“Pete!” he called suddenly, and the mate left the fish-pen.
“Where’s Arry Duncan?”
“Wal, skipper, I didn’t want to tell you fer fear you had enough on yer mind already, but Arry never come back the same day you was lost.”
“My God! Another one! I wondered how many would get caught that day!”
“An’ that ain’t all. He had your motor-dory with him––the one you caught us with out of Castalia.”
“How did he have that? I gave orders the motor-dories weren’t to be used.”
“Wal, cookee an’ the boy––they was the only ones aboard––tell it this way: Arry he struck a heavy school fust time he lets his dory rodin’ go, an’ most of his fish topped forty pound. In an hour his dory was full, and it was a three-mile pull back.
“When he got in he argued them others into givin’ him the motor-dory, ’cause it holds so much more. They helped him swing it over, an’ that’s the last they see of him.”
“But, if he had an engine, you’d think he could’ve made it back here or run foul of somebody or somethin’.”